


The Happy Sailor's Guide to A Long Distance Relationship

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drunk Den Den Mushi Dialing, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 23:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: The steps:1. Be really, really lonely2. Drink3. Repeat step 2, in case you’re not drunk enough4. …...things usually start looking kind of blurry here, but one more drink can’t hurt5. There’s really not much more to it6. Wait — yes there is:Call your spouse, because nothing says ‘I miss you’ like a drunk phone call at 4am





	The Happy Sailor's Guide to A Long Distance Relationship

**Author's Note:**

> So my stories for them usually involve the headcanon that they don't really keep in touch while he's away, due to Shanks wanting to keep a low profile with regard to having a family (given what happened to Roger's family, and with the sheer number of enemies lining up, not to mention the Government, it seemed a plausible precaution).
> 
> But then I thought — what if they did?

He’ll often claim to be the one who takes their separation the hardest. Blame it on that restless voyager’s heart — hers was always the steadier one, firm in its beliefs with its roots dug deep. It takes more than a little longing to touch it; more than a few seas and a few months between them for it to waver.

Still. It had always been a terribly  _loving_  thing, that heart, and love always makes a mess, especially with the incentive of a strong drink.

The Den Den Mushi ringing was what woke him, and it took him a moment to realise what was happening. He’s been told he sleeps like the dead, and it felt like that, coming awake, but when he did it wasn’t to a cyclone or an enemy raid (and it usually took one of those, in Shanks’ experience), just that nasal, cheerfully repetitive blabbering, and even shoving the pillow over his head didn’t succeed in blocking out the sound.

“Too  _early_ ,” he told the snail, voice muffled by the mattress, a groan that tried to be an accusation but that sounded a bit too petulant for that. The snail didn’t seem to care which it was, just kept chirping away.

He nearly fell off the bunk reaching for the receiver, but managed to catch himself in time, grumbling into the dark, “That better not be you, Hawk-Eyes.” Fingers wrapped around the mouthpiece, he muttered, “Not everyone’s a fucking vampire.”

Receiver in hand and the heel of it pressed to his brow, as though to physically shove himself out of sleep, the greeting he managed sounded more like a yawn than anything resembling speech. “Yeah?”

There was a pause, and for a second Shanks wondered if he’d dreamed it all, when —  _“Hello, sailor,”_  came the voice, soft and sultry but for the snort that followed, preceding a laugh so loud it filled his entire cabin.

 _“That sounded so much better in my head,”_  Makino said then, still with the remnants of the laugh in her voice, sounding huskier than usual, and — oh he  _knew_  that laugh; that soft, throaty thing that came after a few glasses. He’d been the reason for it on more than one occasion.

Blinking down at the snail, it took his sleep-addled mind a moment to put the pieces together. Then, delight banishing the rest of his exhaustion, “Are you  _drunk_?”

There was another pause, a long beat of silence that seemed as loud as her earlier laughter. In it, Shanks heard the night-sounds of the ship; the creaking tread of footsteps and the muted laughter running through the veins of the planks.

Then, her voice, easing over the line into the quiet—

_“...a little bit.”_

Fully awake now, his irritation at the rude awakening was gone, replaced by an  _ache_  that felt at once like a relief and the exact opposite.

He hadn’t heard her voice in months. They don’t call — an old agreement, to better ensure her safety, and to better endure the distance. But it was a selfish realisation that found him now, hearing the lilting, tellingly inebriated quality to her laugh, that he couldn’t even find it in himself to remember why they’d had that arrangement in the first place.

 _“Well,”_ Makino said.  _“Not really drunk. I’ve had two glasses. Three. Ish.”_

“Three-ish, huh? That’s still more than you usually indulge in,” Shanks said, the words light, even as he felt the small curl of worry, wondering what might have prompted it. “What gives?”

There was a lull that stretched so long, Shanks wondered idly if she might have nodded off, but then, and with a sigh that didn’t carry any of her laughter with it—

 _“Ace took his first steps today,”_ Makino said, quietly.

The feeling that found him first was delight, shaped into a startled smile even before regret claimed it with his next breath, realising the implication — and finding in it the reason for her current state, and unexpected call.

His laugh held a sombre note, but his happiness wasn’t diminished by it. “Really?”

 _“I’m sorry you missed it,”_ she murmured.

His smile eased a bit. “Not sorry I wasn’t there?”

There was a difference. Not a big difference, but a significant one, and it said a lot about her that she’d mourn his absence for _his_  sake, and not the fact that he was gone in the first place.

He already knew what her answer would be, and so instead he asked, “How did it go?”

He saw the snail’s eyes tilting at that, and even if her voice sounded thick, Shanks thought she sounded happy.  _“No tears, although he fell down a few times. It didn’t stop him, but I’m not really surprised. He’s persistent.”_  The laugh that followed was softened with a sigh, sounding almost wistful. _“I don’t know how I’ll keep up with him now, though.”_

“You say that,” Shanks said, smiling, “but if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve wrangled grown pirates with worse manners. I speak from experience — I’m a handful.”

 _“Hmm. I miss wrangling you,”_  she said. There was a pause, and then,  _“I was going to say something dirty, but I forgot what it was.”_

That made him smile — startled, in the way only she could inspire. God, he missed her. “Yeah? I have a few suggestions, if you want to hear them.”

 _“You always have dirty suggestion at the ready,”_ she sighed, but didn’t sound at all upset by the fact.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Shanks countered, and quipped, “And makes certain other things grow harder. And I do mean that in the most literal sense.”

 _“I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case. But I don’t think that’s how that saying goes,”_  Makino laughed.

“I think my addition makes it better. The first part doesn’t really do justice just how bad I’ve got it, thinking about you.”

He could imagine the pleased expression on her face — and the blush deepening in her cheeks, the eyes above them bright with laughter, and the tears he could still hear, sitting at the back of her throat, clinging to the words.

He’d rather have her laughing, Shanks thought.

 _“I wish I was better at this,”_  Makino sighed.  _“You’d think the alcohol would help.”_

“I don’t know,” he mused. “You were off to a good start with that ‘hello, sailor’ bit. Want to pick up where you left off?”

He heard her hum.  _“I’d ask what you were wearing, but I think describing those shorts would kill the mood.”_

He gaped. “Um, ouch? Also, you know better than anyone that I sleep without a stitch.”

_“Hmm, that helps. Go on.”_

He grinned, shaking his head. “Shameless girl. First you insult my clothes, then you expect me to describe in detail what’s under them?”

_“Are you saying you won’t do it?”_

“Oh no, I would, but I feel that’s too easy. Now I want to see if I can get you going by describing the shorts.”

She laughed. It was easily the loveliest sound he’d heard in months.  _“Okay,”_ Makino said.  _“Let’s see what you’ve got.”_

“Oh  _really_ now? I didn’t think you’d bite, but okay. You know I can’t resist a challenge.” He shifted on the mattress, seeking a more comfortable seat. The air was warm and humid, and he felt the sweat gathering on his back, making his hair cling to his neck. They were skirting around a summer island, and even leaving the porthole open didn’t make much of a difference.

He wondered suddenly what the weather was like on her end — if it was too warm for her to sleep clothed, or if it wasn’t, what she was wearing. One of the lace-trimmed slips he liked so much, maybe; or maybe one of the shirts he’d left behind that she’d claimed for herself.

He didn’t know which image he liked best, and had the sudden urge to ask which it was in truth, but curbed it, that tear-choked laugh still lingering in the quiet, and so instead he threw a glance to the pants he’d thrown over the back of his cabin’s only chair.

“The fabric is a little coarse,” he began, dropping his voice an octave, knowing already what effect it would have, especially with the added bonus of still sounding half-asleep. She was delightfully predictable in the things she liked; the only regret he had was that the earnest appreciation she didn’t shy away from showing didn’t really transfer via Den Den Mushi.

“It’s rough to the touch,” he continued, and tried not to smile. It was taking a considerable amount of restraint. “You want to run your hands over it, see how it feels, trace the length of the—” he coughed, grin widening despite his efforts, “— _zipper._  You’re impressed by the sheer size of it.”

She sounded like she was struggling to hold back her laughter.  _“It’s something to behold, is it?”_

“Oh yeah. A real eye-catcher. Very _generous_  proportions.”

_“I can believe it.”_

“It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen. It makes you excited. Maybe even a little nervous.”

 _“I don’t know where you get these things,”_  Makino said, tone half-marvelling and brimming with laughter.  _“I’m scared and impressed at the same time.”_

“You want to try them,” he said, undeterred, and it was taking genuine effort not to laugh now, hearing how she was failing to hold back her own. “You’re thinking they’ll never fit, there’s no way, but there’s a part of you that still wants to try. You can’t help it—you need it, desperately.”

She sounded on the verge of tears, but it wasn’t the same as earlier, he heard.  _“Oh my god.”_

“Yeah,” Shanks said with a sigh, as though lamenting a heavy burden. “I have been called that.”

The dam broke, and then she was laughing in earnest, the sound filling the quiet, filling his cabin, the gasping, helpless kind of laughter that left no room for tears of any kind. It sounded like she was having trouble breathing, the slight hiccuping quality making his grin soften where it had split his face.

“So did that do it for you?” he asked, when her laughter had trickled to a giggle, and ignored the ache it left him with, feeling keenly the distance, and just how long it had been since he’d last seen her — since he’d touched her.

 _“Shanks,”_ Makino said. There was a world of tender warmth in the sound.  _“Thank you.”_

A tired sigh then, and,  _“I think I’m about to fall asleep,”_  she said, a yawn swallowing the words.

“Wore you out, huh?” he asked. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”

She laughed again, honest exhaustion softening it now. He wondered if she was in bed, and tried to imagine her, curled on her side, the receiver tucked between her fingers. Maybe she’d been up with their son.

“Hey,” he said then, a thought gripping him that suddenly wouldn’t let go, remembering what she’d said earlier. “Call me, next time?”

_“Next time?”_

“Next time he does something.”

Makino was quiet. Then,  _“I thought we agreed to be careful.”_

“Mm yeah, I feel that arrangement went down the drain with ‘hello, sailor’,” Shanks said, and smiled when her laughter followed, warm and drowsy. “If anyone’s listening in on this conversation, I hope they’re as delighted as I am.”

 _“Delighted, or traumatised by your performance,”_  Makino mused. _“Maybe it’ll deter any future would-be listeners.”_

“We can only hope. But if not, I could always make it more graphic. Go into excruciating detail about the individual stitches, and just how much the fabric strains over my—”

A muffled sound stilled the words on his tongue, and he heard her moving, the sound of sheets rustling, like she was sitting up. And then he heard it more clearly, a keening sound carrying over the line.

 _“Your son is awake,”_  Makino said, fond exasperation chasing away some of the exhaustion in her voice, although she still sounded tired. But Shanks couldn’t have mustered the voice to manage a quick comeback to that, struck suddenly by the sound, and the reality presented by it. It was one thing hearing her talk about their son, but another to actually hear _him_.

The pang of longing it left in him wiped away the good humour their conversation had prompted, and his smile this time felt forced as he stared at the snail, hearing her rummaging on the other end.

 _“Oh—false alarm,”_ she said then. She was keeping her voice down.  _“He sometimes goes back to sleep by himself.”_

“So self-sufficient,” he laughed — or tried to, but even as it sounded strained, the swell of fondness in his chest wasn’t feigned, as he added, “He gets that from you.”

There was another pause, and he wondered what she was thinking, when, _“I’ll call, next time,”_ Makino said.  _“But…I’d rather you came back for the next milestone.”_

“Yeah,” Shanks said, softly. “Me too.”

He considered the quiet that pooled in the wake of that admission, and wondered suddenly if his efforts had helped at all, or if he’d just ruined it with his own griefs. He’d hoped to cheer her up.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asked, when she hadn’t spoken for several seconds, and when she let slip a tired hum, found the smile that had slipped through his fingers earlier.

_“Hmmaybe.”_

“Drink some water first.”

_“Mhm.”_

His sigh came, fondly chiding. “Makino.”

 _“Fine,”_ came her own, full of stubborn reluctance.

“You’ll feel terrible tomorrow,” Shanks told her, and could picture it easily enough. She was a delightful drunk, but endured her hangovers about as easily as she held her alcohol. In what was becoming an ever-growing list, he was suddenly sad he’d miss it.

 _“Maybe,”_ Makino agreed with a murmur, but her voice had a different quality to it now; a note of some tender feeling that wasn’t touched by exhaustion or drink, and that rang louder in the sound of the smile in her voice, than in the actual words themselves, when she added quietly,

_“But I feel a lot better now.”_

—

 

The next time she called, she hadn’t been drinking.

He picked up after three rings, and she was having so much trouble suppressing her excitement, it took effort not to blurt it all out right away, but, “Hey,” Makino said, before Shanks could even offer a greeting.

She heard his laugh, warmed with delight.  _“I had a feeling it would be you,”_  came his voice, and her foolish heart stuttered in her chest. There was, she suspected, part of her that would always be twenty years old with him; smitten and entirely ridiculous about it.  _“Been at the bottle again?”_

She pursed her mouth to hide her smile. “Not this time.”

He didn’t respond to that, and she realised a little too late just how it must seem. There was a reason they didn’t call each other, after all, and she was usually so careful, but she wasn’t given the chance to explain before Shanks asked, voice wiped clean of that warm amusement he’d greeted her with,  _“Everything okay?”_

Her heart lurched at the sudden change, the suddenly serious weight of his voice, and she couldn’t name the shiver that chased across her arms but she was quick to remedy her mistake. “Oh no—everything is fine!” She tried to smooth the sharper edges of the exclamation with a laugh. “I realise now that my sobriety is a bit misleading, but I’m okay— _we’re_  okay. I just…wanted to try something.”

_“Yeah?”_

He sounded intrigued, if a little bit wary, and the smile that touched her lips was entirely telling, although she didn’t know if it would transfer. Den Den Mushi had the uncanny ability to be both expressive and expressionless at the same time.

“Garp brought me one of those special Den Den Mushi,” Makino said, gaze shifting to the snail in question, sitting on her nightstand next to her regular one. It looked a little tired, she thought. She wondered if it was the case for all of that kind, or if this one was just overworked. Poor thing. “A white one.”

She heard his surprise in the stunned silence that followed, before his smile came, although the snail didn’t really do it justice. She missed it, Makino thought, her own smile faltering a bit.

 _“Those are rare,”_ Shanks said, tone marvelling.  _“And classified military equipment at that.”_

“I know,” Makino said, smile widening at the memory. “When I asked, he said ‘I’m retired, what are they gonna do, demote me?’”

His laughter drifted over the line, sounding delighted.  _“I don’t know why I’m surprised. It scares me, the amount of things you could accomplish just by batting your eyes.”_

“There was no batting,” Makino said.

_“Sure there wasn’t. Garp just handed over a rare and invaluable communications device so you could call your pirate husband, who he has nothing but the utmost respect and affection for, completely unprompted. I’ll believe that.”_

She pressed her lips together. “There may have been  _some_  batting involved,” she conceded at length.

His laugh this time was entirely fond, and her heart constricted at the sound.  _“That’s my girl. What a pirate you turned out to be.”_

She stuck her tongue out, and his next laugh was louder, carrying over the line to fill her bedroom. And if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend he was there with her, and not several seas away. It almost worked —  _almost,_  because the slight static distorted it just enough to remind her. And if he had been with her in truth, she wouldn’t have just heard it, she would have felt it — the way his shoulders shook, and how the sound rose up from his chest, under his heart. He laughed with his whole body. She didn’t know anyone who laughed like that.

 _“How’s our son?”_ Shanks asked then, into the quiet that followed, although his laughter still remained, warming his voice.

Makino smiled, a glance offered to the doorway, although there was no sound from the nursery. “Sleeping. I just finished putting him to bed.”

_“Given that you sound pretty relaxed, I take it you didn’t have any problems?”_

“Well, he’s not as difficult as you are.”

 _“Hey,”_  he laughed.  _“I am delightful. And you love my antics. Especially the bed-related ones.”_

There was a reply on the tip of her tongue, to say that she’d never missed them quite so much, but she didn’t speak it. She thought he might already suspect it, from the way he was steering the conversation into teasing territory. He always knew how to distract her.

_“Is he walking completely without assistance now?”_

She smiled at that. “He’ll be running soon,” she said. “Although I think he was attempting that even before he learned to walk.”

She heard the smile in his voice when he asked,  _“Has he started forming words yet?”_

She was about to answer, but something about the way he said it made her pause. Then with a gasp, “There’s a bet, isn’t there?”

 _“Bet?”_  He sounded far too innocent, Makino thought.  _“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just expressing fatherly interest in the cognitive development of our child.”_

“Mhm. You can tell Ben that if he wants to make money off our son, I want half his winnings.”

 _“As long as his first word isn’t ‘Ben’, you can have all my winnings,”_  Shanks said.  _“On that note, what are the odds that it’ll be ‘party’?”_

“Nonexistent.”

_“You run a bar called that, you realise. It could totally happen.”_

“Our son’s first word isn’t going to be ‘party’, Shanks.”

 _“What about ‘pirate’?”_ he asked.  _“You know what, never mind. Garp might actually hunt me down for that.”_

She shook her head, but didn’t quite succeed in suppressing her smile. “If it happens before you come back, I’ll call and tell you what it is,” she said.

The words weren’t even out of her mouth before the now-familiar ache gripped her, and so strongly it felt suddenly difficult to breathe — the realisation that, for all her hopes that it wouldn’t take that long, it might well be the case. The last time they’d broached the subject, the night before they’d left, Shanks hadn’t been able to give her a clear estimate on how long it would be until they could make it back, and even if it had been months, Makino knew he couldn’t leave the New World yet. She’d made her peace with that, like she’d made her peace with what it entailed for her, and their son.

Her widow’s walk would be a little longer, but at least she didn’t have to wait in complete uncertainty anymore. She could talk to him now, and it wasn’t everything, far from it, but then she’d never asked for more than she could have. And even this — this selfish little connection...she didn’t think it was too much to ask.

She knew from his silence that he’d heard all the things that had gone unspoken, but he didn’t bring it up, and Makino was relieved. She’d wanted this to be a good call — had wanted to hear his voice, and forget for a little while that he was gone, and would be for some time yet.

And she knew he’d no doubt picked up on that too, and wasn’t surprised that his response was what it was.

 _“So, since there’s virtually no chance anyone is listening in on this call,”_ Shanks said, and she knew from the  _smile_ in his voice already what was coming, before he asked, with that low, seductive chuckle,

_“What are you wearing?”_

—

 

Their calls became frequent. Sometimes they were lengthy affairs, stealing the hours from under them without their notice, and sometimes they were brief; their own attempts at stealing a few minutes to themselves, in between the daily tumult of two busy lives on two different seas. On those days it was enough to have her say his name, or to hear their son laughing.

And it helped, when the weeks crawled by and it became apparent that they weren’t going to be able to make it back like he’d hoped. He wasn’t in a position to be selfish — he had responsibilities, to the islands under his protection; to the people living in the corner of the sea he called his own. For a little while yet, at least, with the throne yet unclaimed by a king.

But oh, he’d never in his life wanted to be selfish quite so badly. He knew he was missing them; all those firsts, and all the little changes that took place (his hair was red now, he knew; he had freckles; a gap between his teeth). Their son was walking, and would probably be talking before Shanks saw him again. And children’s memories were fleeting things. The baby he’d left wouldn’t remember what he looked like, even if he knew the sound of his voice; Makino made sure of that, and there was some comfort in her efforts, even if it was a paltry comfort. He wasn’t much of a father, at least not in the ways that counted.

He hadn’t told her that, already anticipating what her answer would be, although Shanks suspected she knew — the fact that she made it a point to call before she put their son to bed was telling enough (“he likes it when you sing,” had been her excuse, and spoken with such stubborn conviction that even if he’d had the heart to doubt her, the small measure of hope it had given him had kept him from speaking it). But there were days he wondered just what kind of difference he made in that little life. If he mattered at all.

He was eating breakfast in the galley when the door was suddenly thrown open, and someone stumbled inside, one of their Den Den Mushi in hand. “Boss! There’s a call for you!”

Shanks blinked up at the commotion. Beside him, Ben raised his eyes from his newspaper, and Yasopp started awake from where he’d dozed off.

“It’s not Garp, is it?” he asked, eyeing the snail. “I swear I haven’t been making any dirty calls….recently.”

He wasn’t given an answer, but the snail was proffered — one of their spares, and he wondered who it might be, when her voice suddenly drifted over the line,  _“Why are you up this early? You’re never up this early. I had to call one of the others when you didn’t pick up!”_

He blinked. “Makino?”

Worry seized him suddenly, but before he could even process it and question her reason for calling —  _“Hold on a moment,”_  she said. She sounded a little out of breath, and like she’d been laughing. Shanks heard her murmur something, her tone encouraging but the words too low for him to pick out. He was about to ask what she was up to, when—

_“Da?”_

The little voice slipped over the line, and his breath rushed out so fast he forgot everything he’d been about to say.

The whole galley was quiet, and for several seconds, Shanks didn’t breathe. He had a feeling he wasn’t the only one.

 _“Did you hear?”_ Makino was asking then, her voice falling, laughing over the line, but he couldn’t find his voice to respond.

 _“It’s not ‘party’, I’m afraid,”_  she said. Somewhere at his back, someone let slip a choked sob.  _“I’m sorry you didn’t win the pool, but I thought you’d like to hear it, either way.”_

She didn’t sound very sorry, Shanks had a thought to say — would have, if he’d remembered how.

There was an elated  _shriek_  on the other end, followed by a loud little laugh, and Makino’s, softer and easing itself underneath it.

 _“Ben,”_ she said then, with that demure lilt that hinted at a poorly-concealed scheme, and when Shanks glanced up it was to find Ben’s smile entirely knowing, as she added pertly,  _“Half of your winnings.”_

Smile widening to a grin, at his look, Ben just shrugged. “Call it a hunch,” he said simply, and this time when he looked for it, Shanks found a startled laugh that sounded a little too choked-up to pretend to be otherwise.

His breakfast forgotten, the whole galley had scrambled out of their seats to move closer, but the growing din did little to drown out the sound of that little laugh — and the word again, not a question now but a declaration, having found encouragement in their excitement, and was repeated over and over, the single-syllable sound that was at once so terribly simple, and the most significant he’d ever heard spoken.

 

—

 

She got used to it — the calls. She was a creature of small habits, but contrary to most, didn’t have trouble adapting when necessary. Instead, she adjusted accordingly, shaping new habits and routines from shifting currents, still-steady legs rooted firmly where others might falter. She didn’t shy away from change.

The birth of their son had required some adjustments to her routines, but she’d reshaped her life around him, her business conducted with the same ease as before even with her stomach round and heavy, and barely a hitch felt in her everyday affairs with the baby slumbering at her breast as she served her customers and wiped her tables. And when he was old enough walk about, she adjusted again, steps just a little more careful than before with the little hands holding onto her skirt, and the little feet following her back and forth across her bar.

She’d adjusted to her husband’s absence, and again when the chance had presented itself, to have a little piece of him, despite the distance. And it wasn’t the same as having _him_ , but — it was late evenings after she’d put their son to bed, a glass of scotch beside her, poured for no other reason than the sentiment, and his voice filling her instead, leaving her lightheaded and breathless from laughing. It was early mornings, having finished up her opening routines with time to spare, and a suggestive conversation that would leave her limbs loose and her cheeks flushed, and her day a little bit brighter.

They made it work, but then they were good at that. And it wasn’t everything, but it was enough. It made the long days a little easier to bear, hearing his voice at the end of them, the warm sigh of her name sounding like a lifeline, and she wondered if he knew just how much he was hers, and how much it helped, just hearing him  _talk_. It made the ominous newspaper headlines a little easier to digest, being able to discuss them with him. Shanks didn’t try to sugarcoat the truth to make her feel better, he respected her too much for that, but there were things Makino didn’t ask about, and that he didn’t bring up needlessly.

She appreciated it, having him at her fingertips. Seas away still, their son walking and talking, and nothing had changed where that was concerned, the fact that he was missing out, every month and every new and endearing little change that came with it (he learned to say  _pirate_ , and  _party_ , and she wished she could have seen the look on his face when she told him, but his delight had been palpable; had still been  _enough_ ), but it made it bearable — the waiting that she’d spent so much of her life doing already. It was better this way, she thought. She could have had nothing.

She hadn’t considered that it had made her complacent — that having a small piece of him had made her forget, bit by bit with every call, just how small of a difference that connection actually made, when it came down to it.

She was asleep when the Den Den Mushi rang, and hadn’t completely resurfaced when she reached for the receiver, seeking it with her eyes closed, and, “Hey,” she murmured, smiling into her pillow. Her voice was a tired croak, and she rubbed at her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night here, and I was up with your son less than an hour ago, so if you’re calling to seduce me, you better make it worth my while or I’m going back to sleep.”

There was a long pause, and Makino frowned, blinking into the dark at the two snails on her nightstand. The white one had perked up a little over the months she’d had it in her possession, and stared back at her now, blinking its eyes. The one beside it looked curiously severe.

He hadn’t spoken, and bemusement coloured her voice when she asked, “Shanks?”

Still there was no response, and for a moment she wondered if there was something wrong with the connection, but then—

 _“Makino,”_ came Ben’s voice, the even weight of it settling into the air, so completely different from what she’d expected — the warm laughter that made it so lovely, and no one ever spoke her name like he did — and she sat up so quickly she nearly dropped the receiver.

And she didn’t need him to say anything else, because she knew why he was calling — knew why _he_ was the one calling, and the realisation found her like a gunshot, startling a sob loose into the quiet of her bedroom.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, her voice breaking. And she didn’t know if she meant it as a rebuke or a plea, but heard from Ben’s silence that it didn’t matter which it was, because it wouldn’t change what was coming; the news she’d for so long kept in her heart, practical in everything and determined to be prepared, but that she for so many months with his laughter always at her fingertips had quite forgotten to fear.

 

—

_He’s not dead._

It might have been a relief, if it hadn’t been for how the news had been delivered — with the stark disclaimer that he might not pull through; that he was unresponsive, and that even Luffy’s doctor was reluctant to say anything for certain.

Ben was pragmatic, offering hard facts, and Makino was thankful for that — didn’t think she could have handled anything else, like assurances that he’d be fine that couldn’t be backed up with anything but hope. She didn’t think she could bear to hope; had forgotten how, the months she’d forgotten what it was like to live without him.

She’d never longed to hear his voice quite so much, and had never known a crueler irony, having the means to reach him but realising that it didn’t make a difference. It didn’t change anything, so long that he wasn’t conscious to speak  _to._

And having no other way to deal with the waiting (which wasn’t quite waiting or even longing but something worse, although she refused to call it  _grieving_ —not yet), she got drunk.

Well, not just drunk — really, spectacularly  _wasted_. As drunk as she’d ever been, including her wedding day, but there’d been no laughter to chase down the drink this time, or kisses to soften the burn. Instead it had just been her and a bottle without end, or at least it had seemed that way, with every glass she’d knocked back that had brought her no closer to the bottom, but she’d had to finish it. Grasping for control, she thought she’d never wanted to accomplish anything quite so much as just to  _finish that damn bottle by herself._

Shanks would have managed, she knew. Somehow, the thought left her furious and heartbroken all at once.

In the end, she hadn’t succeeded, and had fallen asleep, curled up on the floor of her bathroom after a night spent being violently sick. Dadan had kept her company; had held her hair back as she’d retched, and had allowed Makino the selfish indulgence of forgetting, at least for a few hours, that she had responsibilities beyond herself.

She hadn’t had the strength to make it to bed, but when she woke she was under the sheets, sweating through all her clothes in what she couldn’t decide was a hangover or a fever, and with a bucket on the floor beside her.

It took a second to realise what had woken her, but there was a hand on her shoulder, gripping it, as though with the intent to physically shake her out of sleep. It didn’t help her headache, and the groan that trickled past her lips felt like it took all the strength she had with it.

A face swam before her eyes then, familiar features taking shape through the glare as she blinked into the sunlight. “Dadan?” she croaked.

Dadan said nothing, but a moment later Makino realised what she was holding, and her worst fear found her before anything else, pushing a sound of refusal past her teeth, but before she could even put words to the feeling, Dadan’s grip on her shoulder tightened, and she shoved the Den Den Mushi forward, as though impatient for her to take it.

“You didn’t pick up yours,” she told her, with a glance at the snails on her nightstand, both idle. “But that’s what you get for drinking yourself into oblivion.” She held the snail out again, a little gentler this time. “Here,” she said, dryly. “I can’t take another second. He runs at the mouth like it’ll kill him to stop, and I’m not beyond tossing the damn snail in the ocean if it’ll shut him up.”

 _“Okay, but I take great offence to that,”_  came the voice from the other end of the line, and Makino’s heart stopped.  _“My mouth is a gift.”_

Dadan arched a single brow, before she promptly put the snail into Makino’ hands and turned to leave, muttering under her breath.

For one excruciating moment, all she could do was stare at it. She couldn’t find her voice to speak — was scared to even try, fearing what he might tell her, and at the same time not knowing what to do with all the hope now that it found her, completely defenceless, and she still hadn’t spoken when the snail’s eyes curved at the corners.

 _“You still there?”_  she heard then, the warm timbre crackling a little with static, and she thought she could have sobbed — felt like she did, by the way her whole body convulsed, but there was no sound from it.

Makino tried to gather herself; her scrambled, hungover thoughts and all the broken pieces of her once-steady heart, as she croaked into the mouthpiece, with a declaration that felt suddenly far more significant than its simplicity implied, “I’m still here.”

She heard how he laughed, the sound seizing her breath. _“God, you sound worse than I do,”_ Shanks said, voice hoarse and the syllables tight and strained, but she thought she’d never loved the sound of it more.  _“And that’s saying something, because I’m pretty sure I was dead for a little while. How much did you drink?”_

She realised she was crying, but didn’t care. “Just a little bit,” she choked out, an attempted laugh that wrapped itself with a sob.

The Den Den Mushi’s eyes softened a bit.  _“I’d kill for a hangover, to tell you the truth,”_  she heard him say, with a note of wistfulness.  _“Although I think that might actually kill me. Ah—sorry,”_  he laughed.  _“That was a little insensitive. I’m on some pretty heavy drugs at the moment so my brain-to-mouth filter isn’t really working. Or present. Doc probably could have warned you about this conversation, or discouraged it, but I wanted to call, in case I don’t make it. Wait… shit, that wasn’t much better. God, I’m terrible at this.”_

He’d barely paused for breath, the words slurred from the pain and whatever medication he was on, but she was smiling now, and so much that it  _hurt_ , and more than anything else, her head and her heart and her whole, aching body. “I don’t mind,” Makino said, thickly.

The deep chuckle that followed sounded pleased, if a little tired.  _“Glad to hear it,”_ Shanks said.  _“You’re going to have to put up with my antics a little longer, it seems. Also, you’re probably going to have to remind me that we had this conversation, because I’ll be lucky if I remember my own name tomorrow. Which is my very roundabout way of saying that you should call. Sobriety entirely optional this time. For you, that is. I’m not allowed to drink, but I’ll make it worth your while, I promise. Painkillers make me really frisky, so expect the seduction of your life.”_

“He’s  _still_ talking?” came the snort from the doorway, and Makino looked up to find Dadan there, Ace on her arm.

 _“Heyyy, Dadan’s back!”_ Shanks laughed. _“You know she threatened to strangle me for dying? I’m kinda glad there’s a whole sea between us, because she scares the crap outta me. More than Garp does. And I’m not really in a position to put up a fight right now.”_

Dadan just looked at her, expression enduring. “As I was saying.”

“Mam,” came the little demand then, as her son reached his arms out, and Dadan put him into Makino’s, before she turned on her heel with a promise to make her something to eat, because an entirely liquid diet wasn’t going to fly. Shanks called his agreement after her, to which she shot back that he was the reason, and in a tone that suggested it really was a good thing there was a sea between them.

It left Makino with Ace, snuggled in her arms, restless little shape refusing to sit still, and there was a sudden, fierce sort of comfort in it, and the cheeky little laugh she got when she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close until she felt his heartbeat, the little rabbit’s pace of it against her own.

On the other end, Shanks had fallen quiet, but the Den Den Mushi managed to convey a semblance of an expression, suggesting fondness, if a half-delirious sort.

In her arms, Ace pressed his cheek against her shoulder, and murmured a very small “Da?”

“Tell me,” Makino said then, the words escaping her with a breath. It seemed suddenly the most important thing in the world.

_“Tell you what?”_

She shook her head. There were tears pressing against her eyes again, but she didn’t try to stop them. “Anything. Everything. I don’t care, I just want to hear you talk.”

She heard his laughter, softer this time.  _“You’ll regret saying that in a minute.”_  A muffled voice from somewhere on his end, and Shanks added,  _“Doc agrees. Ben would probably do the same, but he’s asleep. Kept vigil all night. What a nerd. I’d doodle on his face, but I can’t really move my arm. You know what’s worse than having your arm in a sling? Having your only arm in a sling. And you know I’m not against you tying me up to have your way with me, but it’s not nearly as fun when you’re not here and I’ve got Doc looming over me instead. And—hey, Doc, where are you going? I’m just getting started!”_

She was crying so badly she couldn’t see past the tears, a hiccuping laugh threatening at the bottom of her throat, and when his voice came through next, she heard the smile in it. _“Still sure you want to hear me talk?”_

Her smile trembling, she kissed it against the top of Ace’s head, threading her fingers through his hair, and when he reached for the receiver with a coo of delight she let him take it, a fond sigh following when he proceeded to try and shove it into his mouth.

She heard Shanks laughing, and his voice, not directed at her this time, and it didn’t seem to matter that their son was a little too young to follow what he was saying, or even to understand much beyond whose voice he was hearing.

The unforgiving headache pressing outwards against her skull made it difficult to keep her head elevated and she still felt like she might throw up, and closing her eyes, ears filled with the sound of his voice where it reached towards her, and towards that delighted little laugh under her chin, Makino thought she’d never in her life felt worse — or happier.

 


End file.
